Auntie Cryptanalyst
by TheBlackLipstick
Summary: Sherlock has an unexpected meeting with his past. Just musings, hope you like.
1. Chapter 1

_Auntie Cryptanalyst_

**For the best friend there has ever been, and all my best to her many villagers ;) **

She was early. Too early. She sighed at the hour hand on her watch, and went over to the desk to tell the receptionist to let Sebastian know she was here. As she sat down, she thought _Carpe Diem_, seize the day. But she was hardly seizing it here, was she? Sitting in a bank's waiting room, repeatedly denying the enquiry of tea, waiting for Sebastian to finish his morning paperwork.

She picked up one of the rags from the sidetable, from which a ferociously spiky pot plant glared at her from its urn. The headline read, _Killer Cabbie Behind Serial Suicides _and underneath in smaller print, _Sherlock Holmes: The Psychopath_.

_Sociopath_, she corrected silently. _Sociopathe_, _Sotsiopat_, _Soziopath _chirruped several different parts of her brain.

Suddenly, Sebastian appeared around the corner, scratching his rather sizeable chin and looking as conceited as the day they left uni.

'Ah,' he said, 'Anneleina,'

'Sebastian, its been too long,' she lied, and flicked her satchel back on her shoulder.

'I've got a surprise for you', he said as he strolled in front.

'Oh! It'll have to be quite something to surprise me, Sebastian'

'Oh it is, don't worry!'

Anneleina frowned. Sebastian was not usually associated with mysticism.

He swung open the door to his study and showed her in. She saw there were already two people seated with their backs to her.

'Aren't you going to introduce us, Sebastian', said a familiar voice, without turning around.

'I think you already know each other', he smirked.

Sherlock turned around. The girl who stood before him was thin and pale with thick light brown hair, a white powdered face and deep burgundy horned spectacles.

John had never seen Sherlock surprised. The girl's eyes widened, and a smile broke out on her thin dark lips.

'Nephew!'


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

This scenario would, Sherlock decided, have spared alot of his time. But rather selfishly, Anneleina Holmes was abroad, and had not kept in touch. He did not know her phone number, land line or otherwise, and she rather inconsiderately lacked a Facebook, Bebo or Myspace account. Her address and country of residence were also a mystery. He did not even know if she was in the same continent. She had to be somewhere. But much to his dismay, he hadn't a clue where. And though he hated to admit it, he needed her. She was not much better than most at deduction, and had no stock of slap-on-able characters, something he prided himself on, his ability to smear on something that quite resembled normal, if cumbersome human emotions. But when it came to ciphers and codes, that was different. He _would _find her.

She was the same age as him, and she had always been his aunt. Not that they were related. His grandmother had adopted a baby on one of her explorations in eastern Europe. When she was out travelling she often left Anneleina with the family, and so she and Sherlock met at an early age. Not that actually spoke much, Anneleina was very shy with people she didn't really know. This Sherlock found irritating because she hid her personality so well from strangers.

Annelei first actually managed to make conversation with him when she found him asleep at his desk, face down in a pile of papers. When she returned he was in a bad mood and grumbled at her for not waking up sooner, and that time was of the essence, but she managed to placate him with tea. She had big round, orange eyes like an owl's, and she quickly learnt the game that Sherlock played every waking hour. She was a strange kid, not unlike him, and she and her nephew, became sort of... family. Not that he recounted this part to John, as they were walking from the bank that Sunday afternoon, with the pigeons wheeling in many different directions and foreign students sitting on the museum steps. And now she was playing it with him, and for the first time she was an adversary, the closest thing Sherlock had to a friend, an enemy.

He hadn't seen her since university, and she had gone off as a travelling translator, working for museums and tour-buses alike. She melted into the swarms of the world, she had, seemingly, disappeared. He would never have found her at all, if it hadn't been for the library.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sherlock pulled the books out and stared at the cipher. Then he looked at the books in his hand. They were... wrong... they were... mixed up! They were all in the right order except, _A Guide To Chinese Dialects. _In a section devoted to.. he glanced up.

'Political Non-Fiction.' He said aloud. 'John, this-' He waved the _Guide _in the air. '-Is misplaced!'

'So what, the killer left it here?'

'No, he'd never do this by accident, and I bet he didn't have a fountain pen on him!' He open the book onto the foremost page at the top it said:

_p. 137 paragraph 3. _

'Annelei', he muttered under his breath, rifling through the pages, 'a hundred and thirty-four, a hundred and thirty-five, a hundred and thirty-six.. aha!'

'Annelei? Your aunt?'

'Yes, she knew I'd come here, she's giving us a clue, but why? Why couldn't she just wait and tell us?'

'That's what I am doing,' said a voice somewhere behind him. The girl on a stepladder smiled down at him. 'Hello, Holmes'.

She blushed when she saw John and gave him a smile that if he blinked he would have missed it. Strangely familiar.

'Annelei, this is Doctor John Watson, John this is my aunt the cryptanalyst.'

Annelei nodded in John's direction and turned back to her nephew.

'I'd say those were of Asian origin, Chinese, maybe by the tails of the characters.'

'Where have you been, Annelei'

'O, here, there, everywhere. And,' she looked at her watch, 'I have somewhere to be now.'

'What? With whom?' said Sherlock before he could stop himself.

'You're not my only nephew you know!' She shouted as she plodded down the corridor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Anneleina hated the feud between Mycroft and Sherlock. They were both such delightfully weird people. Or though, it was so obvious who was her favourite. Sherlock had grown to be part of her, in her smile, her eyes, even her sarcastic comments. And he too had become more like her. The reason, for that little pantomime in the library, was to get a proper look at Sherlock. She hadn't seen him for a long time. He was taller and his face was older, something in his eyes. He was different, not much, but still. Different.

But he hadn't changed nearly as much as she had. He didn't know her at all, she thought, and bit her lip.

'She's hiding something.' Sherlock mused on the way back. But what? She was different. He had been fearing this ever since they had parted ways. And why was she going to Mycroft?


End file.
